Pining | For Kim -tail-blazer-

The comms crackled. “Aft-deck, you still awake?”

A pale blue ion streak, thinner than a thread of spun glass, arcing across the dark. Kim’s signature. The Tail-Blazer. Every pilot in the Scatterhaul Fleet flew by the book—safe trajectories, mapped routes, deference to the gravity wells. But Kim? Kim flew through them. She’d loop a comet’s corona for fun, skim a black hole’s accretion disc like a skipping stone, and leave behind that impossible, shimmering tail: a braid of rogue particles and audacity.

And for three glorious seconds, the tail curved toward the aft-viewport. Toward Lina. Pining For Kim -Tail-Blazer-

“Where else would I go?”

“For your dampeners,” she said. “Heard you complaining about the surge.” The comms crackled

“Good. I’m coming about for a pass. Look up.”

The fleet called her reckless. Dangerous. Uncontainable . The Tail-Blazer

A pause. Then Kim’s voice, softer now. Almost tender.